words that crowded for expression.

"The Sikhs!" he screamed, as he came within earshot of the milling
crowd, through which four small policemen were trying to force a
path. "The Sikhs! They ride to the rescue!"

"The Sikhs!" yelled somebody on the edge of the crowd, who had more
breath but not enough imagination to ask questions. "The Sikhs are
coming! Run!"

"The Sikhs! The Sikhs!"

The crowd took it up. And since it was a crowd, and there was
nothing else to do; and since it had had protection but no violence
at Sikh hands ever since '57; and since the babu really did look
frightened, it shouted that the Sikhs were coming until it believed
the news and had made itself thoroughly afraid.

"Run, brothers!" shouted some man in the middle who owned a voice
like a bull-buffalo's. And that being a new idea and just as good as
any, the whole crowd took to its heels, leaving the four policemen
staring at the body of a dead Sikh, and the fat babu complacently
regarding all of them.

Presently a European police officer trotted up on a white pony,
examined the body, asked a dozen questions of the four policemen,
wrote in his memorandum book, and ordered the body to be taken to the
morgue.

"Come here, you!" he called to the babu.